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But this, this is fucking unbelievable.
And how could she abandon our kid?
What type of monster has she
become?
“Baby, where are you?” Felicity calls out, stumbling on the bottom step of the staircase and lunging forward to the floor. With a delirious cackle, she searches the area, locking eyes with me in the living room.
“Who the hell is that?”
I keep quiet. I need to process.
“Wesley… who is that?”
“Mine.”
“Yours? Is this some sort of sick joke? Let me see.”
Felicity moves closer, naked and barely able to compose herself. Armed with a look of disgust, she complains, “Jesus, Wesley, get rid of her. What a killjoy.”
This woman, an accessory to my over-indulging lifestyle, is the wake-up call I desperately need. A snippet of my life—what it has become and who I have become. The more she breathes in my space, the more I’m revolted by the person I’ve allowed myself to be.
This is exactly what Milana envisioned.
Why would she want me? A man who depended on pills, drugs, and anything that will erase the fucked-up life I built for myself.
I don’t know what comes over me, this protective beast who wants to unleash on Felicity. With a deliberate slow breath, my teeth clench upon saying, “Leave.”
Chuckling at what she thinks is a joke. “You want me to leave?”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” I bellow, almost lashing out. “Take your fucking dirty ass out of my house. Now.”
Crossing her arms to cover her fake tits, she huffs at my request. “You wouldn’t dare do this.”
This time, I laugh, foolishly. “Try me. Now get the fuck out.”
I remove my attention from her and back to the baby. She stirs, again, no doubt from our raised voices. I don’t have the nerve to remove her from the carrier but know I will need to, eventually.
Felicity shouts profanities into the room, dressed and with a bag in hand. I ignore her spiteful comments, welcoming the silence after she slams the door behind her.
Then, the panic sets in.
I’m alone with a baby who needs attention. As if she can read my thoughts, she begins to wail, only adding to my anxiety about having to lift her. The panic grips my throat, and with a mad rush, I run upstairs to grab my cell and call Em.
I’m talking, fast and incoherent. Trying to explain it all but not believing the words spilling out of my mouth.
“Slow down. You have what there?”
I take deep breaths, trying to calm the nervous energy and explain it again, slower.
“Wesley, I can’t believe it.” She sighs, loudly.
“Just get here. Please. The kid is crying, I don’t know what to do.”
“Pick the baby up, watch its head, and I’ll be there soon.”
She hangs up.
